


Same Old War

by Vulpix



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 03:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11750763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulpix/pseuds/Vulpix
Summary: Patrick wanted to punch Pete or something, which wasn’t exactly a new feeling, but it was relatively rare nowadays. He got up and walked across the room. “You don’t get it! You guys might not give a shit but if we do the wrong thing this shit is going to end up worse off than Folie!"(or Patrick's demons catching up with him after delaying an album)





	Same Old War

**Author's Note:**

> I still sort of exist. take this late night ramble about a late night.

This is the worst things had been since the hiatus.

He thought things were bad when they had released their version of the Ghostbuster’s theme song. He had spent a week out of it, but it blew over pretty quick considering. Their fanbase wasn’t at their throats about it too much. It was mainly just the normal assholes who complained of how much they sucked and sold out, so it was almost like background noise.

Delaying Mania, however, just pissed the fan base off.

He had logged onto his computer to tweet, considering he didn’t want to blast his phone with notifications, and he knew he should have immediately logged off, but curiosity got the best of him. And he was right, he was blasted with notifications. Some supportive, saying it was the right move, others… not so much. He groaned.

“Patrick, you literally just tweeted, people use social media all the time, don’t pretend like it hurts.”

He shot a glare at Pete, whose hands went up immediately. Andy and Joe stifled laughs. They also got glares.

“People are already complaining. That’s why I’m groaning,” Patrick grumbled, getting up and heading straight for his guitar, letting his bandmates get a view of the computer.

Joe laughed. “Someone already made a meme. Look!”

Patrick twitched in annoyance.

The guys didn’t take this nearly as hard as he was. They had spoken this big game of changing stuff up, and yet they were getting thrown the same insults, the same petty sell out boy jokes… it was driving Patrick up a goddamned wall.

When he had fallen asleep the nights after, he found himself on a stage surrounded by purple memorabilia. As they played, the crowd booed, chanted, and threw things. He could hear his heart thundering in his ears.

_You’re sell outs!_

_Why have a Mania tour without Mania?!_

_I hope the band breaks up again!_

He rocketed up out of bed, rubbing his temples. He looked at his clock and huffed. 3:02 AM. The numbers were almost mocking, glaring in his face and making him squint. He got up and wandered into his kitchen, rifling through the cabinets. His eyes drifted to the liquor cabinet, and he hummed low in consideration. It was a bad habit, but at least he could calm himself down a little bit. He glanced behind himself as if his dog would tell him not to, but then he walked over, grabbing the bottle of whiskey he hadn’t touched since his birthday.

That had been in celebration, this was a bit darker than that.

It was almost worse that the guys were taking this so lightly. Andy and Joe had given up a long time ago to appease to the fan base. They just laughed at the stupid comments and tended to ignore it unless it stepped too far. Pete had been getting shit on for years, even more so than Patrick. While it affected him more, he went to therapy regularly now and had much healthier ways of handling it.

Plus, he was just… stronger. At least Pete had the Gemini attitude and spunk to throw up two middle fingers to those who were less than nice to them. Patrick had an attitude too, but it didn’t always show up when he needed it.

He huffed again, settling down on the ground, clutching the bottle of alcohol in one hand, running the other through the soft fur of his dog, who seemed a little concerned, but happily panted away nonetheless.

… What if they were sell outs? They had announced an album before they had even written it totally, but they had done it before and it had worked out relatively well. Leaks had been inevitable, and he had thought that they had a solid enough idea… clearly not. It took them forever to write Save Rock and Roll, to put all the finishing touches on it. He didn’t want that. He wanted to keep creating and making new things and pushing the limits of his own abilities. That wasn’t a sellout. They had just made a mistake. A very large, costly mistake that pissed off both the fanbase and the higher ups in Island. Thank god for Pete (and Pete’s lawyers) for being smart enough to have them on DCD2.

He pulled out his phone and stared at his emails for a few minutes, not really taking them in, just looking for something to fill his brain that wasn’t this bullshit.

_U up?_

Patrick actually rolled his eyes. Pete Wentz, at thirty-eight years old, still couldn’t text like an adult.

_Someone’s psychic. Unfortunately yes._

_nah, i can just hear u thinkin from here._

Patrick furrowed his brow, and then he received another text.

_also you just forwarded an email to me._

Oh. That made a lot more sense.

_Okay good, I felt like you were in my back garden or something. Why are you awake?_

_patrick i literally have insomnia._

_…. Nevermind, true enough._

_better question: why r u awke?_

Patrick paused. Yeah, that was a better question. He glanced at the bottle that had taken up a residence beside him. He sighed. Well, this was a pathetic image to paint.

_Can’t sleep._

_no shit._

Patrick mulled over it, trying to think of a gentle way to word, “I can’t handle us delaying the album even though I couldn’t handle releasing the album in hardly a month and now people are ripping us to shreds again and I kind of want to crawl into a dark hole for the next few months”. Pete beat him to the punch.

_Im coming over, get clothes on._

_I don’t sleep naked like you._

_quit kink shaming me._

And with that, Patrick had to get his shit together before Pete made the rather short trip to his home. He immediately stood up and put the bottle away, looking down at his clothes. He hadn’t changed since the last time he had seen Pete, so he rushed to his closet, digging through and putting on whatever was clean. There wasn’t much of a selection. He rocketed himself onto his couch right as he heard his front door open, licking his lips and trying not to look on edge. Pete walked in the room, looking rather comfy in pajamas, but with a pair of dark bags under his eyes.

“Dude,” he said simply.

Patrick feigned an innocent expression.

“Did you wear jeans to bed?”

Patrick looked down. Well, that was an oversight.

Pete gave him a look and flopped down beside him. He turned on the TV, making sure the volume was low, and started to flick through the channels.

Pete was often quoted talking about how Patrick helped him out through hard times, even though some of those hard times were caused by Patrick himself. He was proud of their friendship, but that didn’t mean Pete didn’t know the way Patrick ticked and the way things got to him. He could feel Pete waiting, for once in his goddamn life being patient, and it just made anxiety drip into Patrick’s chest. The dark little voice in his head grew frustrated, angry, shouting louder and louder. It took half of an infomercial for a fad diet for Patrick to simply sigh.

Pete put the TV onto mute and turned to look at him, facial expression expectant.

Patrick frowned, and Pete crossed his arms. “Why were you drinking this late?”

“I was-“

“You smell like whiskey, Patrick, and you’re flushed. You’re buzzed.”

Patrick’s voice died in his throat, protests useless. Pete had him cornered.

“… it’s just… the album, okay?”

Pete blinked. “Patrick, we have months now, it’ll be great.”

“That’s the _issue_.” Patrick would deny the fact that he was whining, but his voice came out higher pitched than he intended.

“… You don’t want a great album?” Pete was just humoring him, and Patrick knew it, and his emotions flared up.

“No, I do, but we were stupid to even try to announce an album we hadn’t written!”

Pete’s arms crossed. “We did it with the last one. You did it with Soul Punk-“

“That’s not exactly the best example if we’re talking success,” Patrick snapped. Pete ignored him.

“-And dozens of artists have gone that route before. We don’t wanna be shitty and release a half assed record. This should show people we’re serious if anything,” Pete shrugged.

Patrick wanted to punch Pete or something, which wasn’t exactly a new feeling, but it was relatively rare nowadays. He got up and walked across the room. “You don’t get it! You guys might not give a shit but if we do the wrong thing this shit is going to end up worse off than Folie! People hate Young and Menace and Champion wasn’t much better, and maybe I’ve lost it, Pete! Maybe all I’m good for is just… shitty, mediocre voice acting in kids shows and making music that suits that atmosphere and-“ He let out an exasperated grunt.

And Pete… was just so fucking calm.

“Patrick, look at me.”

Patrick glared harshly.

“We’ve got this.”

He had said that to Pete several times before, and it had worked. He didn’t expect it to work too well on himself, but Pete sounded so sure and it pulled Patrick away from the edge. Pete motioned him over, lifting the bottle of whiskey Patrick had been hitting up. He walked over, flopping down into Pete’s personal bubble, mumbling, “I don’t wanna be done yet.”

“Then we won’t be.” Pete took a small sip from the bottle. “We’re in this til we wanna be done. Hateful shits be damned.”

Patrick’s head rested against the back of the sofa. Pete’s fingers reached out and curled around his wrist, grounding him, as if it would keep Patrick from floating away. They sat in silence for a moment as Patrick’s pulse slowed.

“… voice acting isn’t bad.”

Pete smirked. “You’re almost as dramatic as me at this point, man.”

Patrick didn’t have the energy to glare. “You rub off on people.”

“… Are you feeling okay? I know this album is called Mania but we have time now. Let’s not go crazy. Take some time. We don’t have to think about it for a while.” Pete motioned toward the TV. “We could rewatch Game of Thrones now if we wanted to.”

“I’ll… I’ll be okay.”

Pete let go of his wrist, settling back into the couch. “Stop bottling stuff up, it’s bad for you. That’s how I got all these grey hairs.”

Patrick rested his head on Pete’s shoulder. He could feel the anxiety bubbling, there like always, but he felt the warmth radiating from his best friend and it kept it from boiling over.

“Thanks.”

Pete shrugged, getting engrossed in the world of television shopping and infomercials.

“I’ve got you.”


End file.
